


All Because of Act Two Scene Two

by Spellbound_Spot_Conlon



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Daveys the stage manager, Fluff, Gay, Mooooooo, Race needs to stop banging his head on the tables, Spot is lead techie cuz I love him, Theatre, They’re both pining for each other, Why the heck do they have cow noises prerecorded, didnt actually pick a show for them to be doing, make it up yourself I guess, rehearsal, show, sprace, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 05:37:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13495972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spellbound_Spot_Conlon/pseuds/Spellbound_Spot_Conlon
Summary: It’s tech week, better know as hell week, and all Race wants is for it to be over with less complications than normal. But with Spot Conlon as lights and sound director, that doesn’t seem likely.





	All Because of Act Two Scene Two

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody!!! I wrote this about a week ago when the plot bunnies attacked at like 11:00 at night and I didn’t want to lose them, but I’m just getting around to posting it now!!! I hope you all enjoy!

“Okay! Act 2, scene 2 people! Places! Bring down the lights 3/4! Thank you! Begin!”

Race watched from backstage as act two, scene two commenced. It was a long scene, and Race didn’t enter until later. He lazily surveyed the chairs that were in his view from his place hidden behind the wing curtain, picking subconsciously at the hem of his costume sleeve.

“Race,” he heard a hiss from behind him. Turning around, he saw Davey glaring at him from his seat as stage manager.

“What?” he questioned in a whisper.

“Stop picking at your costume!” Davey hissed again, and turned back to his stand, saying, “Cue Track 24.” Race rolled his eyes, but stopped messing with his sleeve.

The scene toiled on. Many stops were made to be given notes from Medda, to fix the lighting, or rerun a line. Tech week. Sigh. Finally, it was time for Race to enter. He breathed deeply, then strutted on stage, calling, “Miss me boys?” as per his character.

The scene was going quite well. Nobody had messed up badly, and the tech ran smoothly. They were reaching the intense part of the scene, a miniature climax within the larger one. The tension was brilliant, portrayed beautifully by the actors. Naturally, that’s when it all went to hell.

As Race opened his mouth to say his line, an unexpected sound came out of the stage speakers. The line was supposed to be, “Since when the hell have you cared this much? Since when have you decided to actually be a part of things?” However, it sounded a bit more like this.

“Since wh-“

“MoooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

Race, Mush, Finch, and the other two actors on the stage tried not to freeze in shock. In an attempt to carry on the scene, Race tried once more to say his line.

“Sinc-“

“MoooooooOOoOooOoOOOOOOOOO.”

Choking back an angry yell, Race valiantly attempted a third time.

“Si-“

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

Race threw the prop he was holding onto the set table as Medda called, “Stop! Cut!” He glared up at the tech booth. Tech week was bad enough without some stupid kid giving them crap with the soundboard.

Medda made her way up to the monkey booth, more commonly known as the tech booth, to talk to the crew. The whole cast could hear her, as nobody really had the energy to talk, and they all wanted to know what the hell just happened. She was also shouting, so that was another contributor.

“Conlon, what was that?”

Race scowled. Spot Conlon. Of course it was Spot Freaking Conlon. It always was. The tough kid from Brooklyn who had the school cowering in terror, who was the head of the tech crew, and who Medda somehow adored. Despite his bad attitude, sharp tongue and terrifying glares, Medda adored Spot. Race nearly growled, and considered asking Mush to physically hold him black from banging his head on the table. He opted out of it and just did it instead.

He could hear a couple of the cast talking now, lowly and about random stuff, but couldn’t hear the conversation between Medda and Spot. Probably because she wasn’t shouting anymore. After a couple of minutes, he saw Medda emerge from the booth, shaking her head wearily. Race could see Spot laughing through the window. As they made eye contact, Spot’s laugh turned into his famous smirk. Race glared as hard as he could.

The rest of rehearsal was mostly normal, excluding the part where a small piece of the set fell and made a noise, at which Finch shot up three feet in the air. Finally, Medda stopped them at the end of a scene, and announced that the rehearsal had ended. Race let his shoulders drop, and dragged his feet as he walked off to the dressing rooms to get changed.

As Race changed out of his costume, silent, the other guys teasing Finch about being so jumpy, he started thinking about what had happened in scene two. And the more he thought about it, the more pissed off he got. By the time he had put away his costume and put on his normal shoes, he was fuming. He stormed out of the boys dressing room and towards the monkey booth. Stomping up the stairs, he threw the door open.

“What the hell Conlon?!”

“You’re not supposed to be up here. Ain’t allowed.” Spot was there, as Race knew he would be, feet propped up on the soundboard desk and looking supremely unconcerned. He was sitting in an office chair. How that got up there, Race didn’t know. But he didn’t particularly care at the moment.

“Are you trying to be an asshole?! Cause you’re doing a right good job of it?!?” he shouted. Spot looked at him appraisingly, seemingly unworried by Race’s anger.

“I dunno. Never a career optioned I had considered before, but maybe I should,” he said mildly. “Considering how good you say I am at it.”

Race. Was. Seething. Grinding his teeth, he spat his next words.

“You know what Conlon, we’re all working really dang hard over here. We’re stressed out about this show, and working our tails off to make it good and worthwhile so I would appreciate it if you could actually do something to help or at least get out of the fricking way and not be a hinderance and not mess up the show!!!” Race was breathing heavily, glaring loathingly at Spot. “You’re just a stuck up, entitled, jerk of an asshole who doesn’t know how to appreciate working hard for something you care about!”

Spot lowered his feet from the desk. “Am I really?”

“Ye- what?”

“Am I really an asshole?” he asked again, head tilted to the side slightly, face void of emotion as usual.

“Ye- yes! Of course!” Race spluttered.

“Really,” Spot stood from the office chair.

“Wh- yes! You don’t care about anybody but yourself, an- and you-“ Spot has started taking slow, steady steps towards Race.

“You just- you just go and mess- mess up up all ou- our hard work an- and you-“ Spot was right in front of Race now.

“You make us all-“ Race trailed off, choking on his words or spit, he couldn’t really tell. Spot was staring down at him, his stormy blue eyes penetrating straight into his. Race’s breath hitched as he tried to continue.

“And- and- and you- you-“ Race’s heart was beating straight out of his chest, and he didn’t even know why.

Spot continued to stare right into his eyes, seemingly never blinking. Then in one movement, he grabbed fistfuls of Race’s shirt at the neckline, and pulled him up so that Race’s lips met his.

Race’s eyes widened before closing, and he wrapped his arms around Spot’s neck, melting into him. They kiss was like fire, burning slowly and passionately. They broke apart, breathing heavily. Race looked up to find Spot looking down at him. He kissed Spot again, shorter this time. When they broke apart again, he said, “I don’t really think you’re an asshole.”

“Well that’s nice to hear,” Spot said. “‘Specially considering I was going to ask you to be my boyfriend. So, how ‘bout it?”

Race nodded fervently, and tucked his head into the crook of Spot’s neck. Spot wrapped his arms around Race and rested his chin on top of Race’s hair. And maybe as the cast took their final bows on closing night of the show, you could hear a loud automated mooing noise over the din of the clapping. But maybe it was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, this actually happened to me in my recent show. There is a scene where there is a cow, so that’s why we had the noise. But a techie played it in the middle of a completely unrelated scene. So it basically went like this:
> 
> Me : “Jacob, it doesn’t matter if it’s Maine or Kansas or-“
> 
> Speakers : MOOOOOOOOOO
> 
> Me : “.......anywhere else...?”
> 
> It was hilarious. The other guy on stage and I had to just keep going with the scene. Lasting jokes.
> 
> Aaaaaaanyways, I hope you liked it!! Please please pleeeaaasseee leave comments and kudos!! They mean so much to me and make my day! Love you all!! :D


End file.
